Chapter Seventeen
chapter-seperator
GWYNN PRESSED herself against the passenger door, hands clasped in her lap, for the duration of the return drive. She had called Uncle Russ about the change in plans and texted Holly the bad news she wouldn’t be flying out that day. The silence that ensued in the cab had grown from an anthill to Rocky Mountain proportions by the time Cash turned onto the Davisons’ street.
What a mess. How could she fix the rift between her and Cash? Did she want to fix it? Cash was better off without her, so it shouldn’t matter to her how he felt about Hadley or Gwynn.
He pulled up alongside the Davisons’ front walk. “I’ll get your things,” he said, his tone flat. He left the cab, and she dropped her head in her hands.
In a few days, she’d be back in her cultivated, safe world where she could begin a similar healing process to the one she’d gone through almost ten years ago.
Eventually, she’d be fine again.
Though she suspected this time around would prove much harder to force fresh images of Cash into the background.
Not that plunging into a new life back then had been effortless. For a while, she had lived in constant mental conflict. Yes, she’d reveled in a do-over with the Sadlers, who loved her and doted on her in a way her birth parents couldn’t, but she’d left behind others, like the Forresters and Gramps, who had loved her too.
At the time, she had soothed her inner struggle with the conviction she couldn’t return to Prospect. Showing her face again would reopen an investigation, and while she knew she wouldn’t have harmed Mr. Cooper, Cash’s dad, what if she’d harmed her own father? What if the answer landed her in jail? Feeling justified in her own reasoning, she had buried the memories of her past along with her emotions and moved on as Gwynn Sadler.
“Because you’re a coward,” she muttered to herself. “And therefore, still a disappointment.”
Maybe she hadn’t done much healing, after all.
“It’s disappointing—”
Gwynn yelped and jerked upright. She frowned at Cash standing with the passenger door open. “How long have you been there?”
“It’s disappointing how you’re going about this,” he said, his voice tender, “but that doesn’t make you a disappointment.”
She growled. “I wish you’d stop listening in on my thoughts.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “When you stop voicing them, I’ll stop listening.” He held out his gloved hand. “C’mon.”
But she slid from the truck without his help. The less contact with him at this point, the better.
“Gwynn? Cash?” Uncle Russ shouted from the front porch through the gusting snow. “Thank goodness, you’re safe.”
“Yes,” Cash called out, “but stay there. I’ll bring her things to you.”
Slinging her backpack onto her shoulders, Gwynn followed Cash, stepping in his footprints to the front porch, where he set her carry-on by Uncle Russ’s feet. He turned around and plowed into her.
He grabbed her upper arms before she toppled backward. “Sorry.” Their gazes collided, lingered. Then he released her like she’d stung him. “Goodbye, Gwynn. I hope everything works out with your job, but don’t look to me for another ride.” He glanced at Uncle Russ and back to her. “I won’t help you leave again.”
As he tromped up the walkway, fresh conflict warred within her. Was this how she wanted things to end?
She hurried after him. “I don’t remember what happened!” she hollered into the storm.
Cash halted, his posture stiffening.
She stopped a few feet behind him, huddling in her coat against the wind. “I don’t remember that night or any other within that two-week period. My subconscious is obviously protecting me for some reason. You said yourself I admitted it was my fault.”
Turning, Cash squinted at her through the snow. “You’re not a killer, Hadley—”
“Gwynn.”
His mouth mashed shut.
He made to go once more, but Gwynn blurted, “Please don’t say anything to anybody, okay? Especially not to Aunt Dani and Uncle Erik.”
“Are you kidding?” Cash closed the distance between them until he stood a pace away, his hands clenched. “Dani came to see me at the shop yesterday. She’d heard from Tessa that you looked like Hadley, and suddenly her hopes from years ago were resurrected with the idea that you could be Hadley. She wanted my opinion. I said it was impossible. We were at your funeral, for goodness’ sake.” He turned up his coat collar at another blast of wind. “We saw you get buried. Still, Dani asked me to watch you last night for any signs that you might be Hadley.
“But I didn’t want you to be Hadley, doggone it.” His voice grew tight. “For one, it made no sense. You. Were. Dead. And I wanted that season of my life to remain dead too. I’d already dealt with the emotions, the unanswered questions—”
“Great, then leave them there in the past. Nothing needs to change. I don’t want—”
“You know what your problem is?” Cash took that last step, bringing them toe-to-toe, and pointed a gloved finger in her face. “You don’t trust God to work things out in your favor.”
She whacked his hand aside. “Easy for you to say. You’re the poster child for Heaven. Mr. Perfect, himself.”
His gaze warred with hers, pale eyes as frosty as the air blowing around them. He shook his head. “Have it your way.” He whirled on his heel and strode to the truck.
Gwynn glared after him, snowflakes pelting her face and mingling with unbidden tears.
Uncle Russ wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the front porch. “You’re wrong about Cash, honey. He about drove himself crazy after his dad died, followed by his momma. Had to crawl his way back to good health and a restored relationship with God. It took even longer to restore relationships with his sister and friends.”
Gwynn swiped the moisture from her cheek. “What are you talking about? What happened?”
“Let’s get inside, and we’ll chat over coffee.” He rolled her carry-on across the porch. “Perhaps it was wrong of Maude and me to indulge you for so long, letting you sever yourself from Prospect. We didn’t want news to trigger a wrong memory, but it’s causing more harm than good now.”
She slumped against Uncle Russ as they entered the house. “I’ve turned into a despicable person, haven’t I?”
“No more than the rest of us needing grace.”
* * *
The next morning, Gwynn spent a considerable time in prayer, crying and pleading for forgiveness and courage; for God to change her heart; to soften her stubbornness; to quiet her fears. She’d eluded Him since returning to Prospect, convinced she could bend His will to hers instead of the other way around, but after she’d tried and failed that morning to book a flight to Boston in time for the art show tomorrow, she had to face facts: God wanted her to stay.
For now, anyway.
She squirmed at what this might mean for her job and the loss of potential contacts, but what could she do other than repeatedly lift it to the Lord … and defer to His plan?
“Oh, be honest, Gwynn,” she said, sitting on the bed, head down, knuckles at her forehead. “You’re grateful for the excuse to stay.” A certain blue-eyed someone had momentarily taken priority over her job.
Last night, Uncle Russ had filled her in on Cash’s downward spiral after losing first his father and then his mother. A three-day bender had led to destructive habits, and Cash barely graduated high school in the spring. He’d disappeared afterward, abandoning Ainsley to be cared for by Erik and Dani Forrester. No one heard from Cash again until he showed up, wrecked and broken, at the Forresters’ doorstep four years ago.
Meanwhile, nine-year-old Ainsley had coped with the loss of her parents and brother in her own rebellious ways, becoming a constant challenge for the Forresters, who had tried to love and protect her as best they’d known how. In middle school, she chose questionable friends, and her surly actions escalated into self-harm shortly after Cash returned. God had intervened in a suicide attempt, however, and with the help of counseling, prayer, and support, Ainsley had turned her life around over the next three years into one of health and victory.
It gutted Gwynn to hear the ways that horrific night had upended two beautiful souls, knowing its ripple effects touched countless others. If she had stayed to confront the truth instead of running away, how many lives would have turned out differently?
That burden is not yours to carry , came a gentle voice.
Gwynn covered her face as tears leaked from her eyes. “How can You be gentle with me, Lord? I screwed up. I’ve been living as a coward all this time, fooling myself I could ignore the past and call myself Your child. Please forgive me.”
I gave you that period of rest.
The Bible verse from Matthew flitted through her mind: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, I will give you rest.”
“But it’s not fair. Why should I have gotten rest while others suffered?”
I decide what is fair. All I ask is that you trust and obey.
Trust. Gwynn’s heart cramped. Why did that sound like a four-letter word? “I-I don’t trust You,” she admitted on a whisper, lowering her head as a tear dripped from her chin. She yanked a tissue from the box beside her. “I’m scared. What if I end up in jail? What if I don’t end up in jail but I lose my job and career possibilities?”
Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.
Gwynn groaned. Could that suffice? The Sunday school answer said it was better to head to prison or into a jobless future with God than to live in fake freedom or superficial security without Him.
Not all Sunday school answers were easy to swallow.
She tossed the used tissue onto the growing pile in the trash can. “Help me, Lord. Help me to trust You. Help me to walk in obedience, to walk out my faith.” Help me not to live in fear.
More scripture verses flashed through her mind, ones she’d studied over the years and tucked away in her heart. Verses about God giving her a spirit of power rather than fear; God working for the good of those who loved Him; Jesus leaving His peace with her and instructing her to not let her heart be troubled or afraid.
Gwynn tugged another tissue free and took a deep breath. Strength infused her lungs and seeped into her arms and legs.
“Light my path, Lord. Help me take this one step at a time.”
Step one: apologize to the Davisons for forcing them to carry her burden longer than necessary.
Step two: apologize to Cash.
Step three: … to be determined.